


Stealth

by Pennyplainknits



Category: NCIS
Genre: Community: kissbingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>This little timestamp/sequel to <a>The Twentieth Time</a> is for <span><a href="http://dodificus.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://dodificus.dreamwidth.org/"><b>dodificus</b></a></span> as a late birthday gift. It's also for the Place:Chest square on my kissbingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stealth

So, it turns out that Tony might be a little slow on the uptake after all.

Gloating isn't _funny_ , Ziva.

It's the only reason he can think of for it taking him several months to realise that McGee has been moving in by _stealth_.

Looking back, the first hint is the dog bowls. He stumbles into the kitchen one too-early Monday morning only to trip over the orange plastic bowls that have suddenly appeared in front of the washing machine.

"Tim!" He yells, hopping around and tugging off one sodden sock.

"Oh yeah," Tim says, surveying the pool of water and the scatter of dried kibble on the kitchen tile. Jethro pushes past him into the kitchen and starts to hoover up the food, tail wagging. "Meant to tell you about that." Tim scratches the back of his neck, sheepish, and Tony has to remind himself that Very Special Senior Field Agents do not use the word 'adorable' no matter how rumpled and rueful their, their _Tim_ is.

McGee's coffee machine somehow makes its way onto the kitchen worktop, but that's cool, because its a shiny silver miracle, the kind of machine that probably gives Gibbs the same kind of feelings as red heads and hand tools. It makes beautiful, beautiful music with Tony's Italian roast and the whole apartment smells amazing. On Sunday mornings Tim will press his lips to Tony's temple and slip out of bed, only to return minutes later and give Tony a coffee-flavoured kiss before setting the mugs on the nightstand and sliding right back into bed.

Sunday's are Tony's _favourite_.

Tony doesn't even notice at the grocery store, when he puts the ridiculous, organic, stone-ground-by-magic-elves peanut butter Tim prefers in the cart, instead of good ol' American Jif. And if he finds himself buying hiking boots because Jethro likes muddy walks, well, his Kurt Geiger's don't deserve that kind of punishment.

"Hey, Tony," Tim asks. He's sitting crossed legged on the floor in front of the DVD shelves, the sleeves of Tony's Ohio State hoodie hanging down over his hands. Tim's taller (and that fact thrills Tony a little) but Tony's broader, and the hoodie is just a bit too big on him. "Your DVDs aren't arranged by title."

"No," Tony says. He sits down next to Tim and points to the spines "By director, then title, then year." Honestly, alphabetical? He's betting Tim arranges things by _colour_.

"Ok," Tim says, and he studies the shelves before he slides _Ghostbusters_ in next to _The Princess Bride_.

It's only later that Tony realises he doesn't actually own _Ghostbusters_. But it's not messing up his system, so he can't bring himself to care.

  
"Damn," Tony groans, late one Sunday evening. He's sleepy and relaxed and doesn't really feel like moving, but he's just remembered he has to.

"Wha'?" Tim asks. Tony feels Tim's lips moving at the base of his throat, Tim's head resting on his chest.

"I forgot to do laundry for work tomorrow," Tony says. He'd meant to do it this afternoon, but then Tim had come striding into the living room, being all steely-angry on the phone to his agent, and Tony had really had no choice be to drop to his knees and blow Tim right there because, really, in-charge Tim is _ungodly_ hot.

He only hopes Tim had had the chance to end the call.

"'S cool," Tim says, and he presses a kiss to Tony's chest, then another. Tony shivers happily as Tim's lips move down his chest to the mole by one nipple that has always been a direct line to Tony's cock. Tim licks over the nipple and then says "Just borrow one of my shirts and do laundry in the morning."

"But then what'll you wear?" Tony asks sleepily. He's not really awake, and Tim's mouth is on his nipple and Tim's hand is stroking down his belly to his cock and it's not as if he's really concentrating on shirts all that much.

Tim laughs against his skin.

"I'll just wear one of my other ones," he said. He kisses him again by way of punctuation and slips out of bed to open the closet door. Sure enough, there are Tim's shirts and suits mixed him with Tony's, and Tim's MIT hoodie making his Ohio State one feel bad about its intellect, and Tim's battered sneakers and shiny agent shoes lined up on the floor alongside Tony's mudstained hiking boots.

" Um," Tony says, taking it in, "That's a lot of clothes. You even have anything back at your place?"

"Tony," Tim has the same look, patient but frustrated, that he gets when Tony mixes up _Star Trek_ , _Star Wars_ and _Stargate_ (whatever, Tony's only interested in Harrison Ford). "When was the last time I actually slept at my place?"

Tony thinks back. And back. And back.

"You're sneaky," he says, with admiration.

"Took you long enough," Tim says. He gets back into bed and Tony leans up to kiss him. Tim's long hands come up to cup his shoulders and tip him backward onto the pillows, kissing him all the way down.

"So, I guess I can call my landlord and give my key back?" Tim says, after a while.

"Long as you don't mess my DVDs up," Tony says, unable to be serious. He means "Yes," and "stay" and "even with your damn dog" and "I love you."

But, by the way Tim is kissing him, slow and sure and pressed down onto him, hands in his hair, he thinks Tim gets it anyway.

He's a lot quicker on the uptake, after all.


End file.
